Paul Jenkins poured garbage cans of paint on to a canvas to create his colour rich works. Colours merged; so much of his process was left up to chance. “It is a big gamble, and that is why I love it,” said Jenkins. He didn’t use paintbrushes, but rather guided the paint on its journey across the canvas. Indigo, cerulean, and ultramarine. The colours are Bird of Paradise bold. Have a look.

Clotilde Olyff is a Belgian graphic artists who designs fonts. This cool font is indicative of her geometric style. Olyff also combs beaches for stones that looks like letters. These collected stone alphabets are so beautiful. It’s amazing to see, how in the right hands, little blobs of granite, slate, pumice and marble can come together as 26 letters of the alphabet.

What I appreciate about Sarah Graham‘s flower paintings, is that they aren’t pretty. We have enough of those in the world. I read this morning that the word ugly comes from an old Norse word ugga which means “aggressive.” Graham’s work demands attention. Her nineteenth-century London studio is filled with vintage botanical drawings, exotic plants, fossils and animal skulls. Nature is a life long passion, and the entomology archives at the Natural History Museum are her playground. Her giant butterflies and blooms capture the beautiful ugliness that is nature. The magnification of every stamen and antenna accentuates the grotesque, the bizarre, the outlandishness of flora and fauna. “It would upset me greatly if someone said my work was pretty,” said Sarah Graham.  

Everyday, as the sun goes down and the kitchen lights come on, I take my children for a walk around our neighbourhood. That slither of time when the lights are on and the blinds are not yet drawn is a different kind of magic hour. We see sinks full of dishes, winter jackets strewn on kitchen counters and tables set for dinner. We see the writer, David Macfarlane sitting in his bay window playing his guitar. Our friend, Erin is always at her stove. And the other day, we spotted Rosalinda doing her evening exercises in the living room. We are voyeurs, nosey parkers, yes –– but beyond that, and more importantly, our evening walks are about connection. There’s something reassuring in these glimpses into people’s daily rhythms and routines. That they are just like ours. And that we are all in this together, even when we’re not. Have a look at the Out My Window series by photographer, Gail Albert Halaban. From Paris to Istanbul, she captures these quotidian moments quite movingly.

In an ideal world, all tulips and roses and ranunculus would make their way to a vessel such as this. With their whimsical, wavy handles, I love Morgan park‘s vases. I can’t think of a flower that wouldn’t want to bathe here. I don’t own all that many vases, but if I were shopping for one, something like this shiny green beauty would top my list. I picture it filled with plump orange roses, or a single agapanthus.